"Oh, my Paul," she said, a break in her wonderful voice, whose tones said
many things, "my young, darling, English Paul!"
Presently they would drive to see that quaint farm she wanted to show him.
The day was very warm, and to rest in the comfortable carriage would be
nice. Paul thought so, too. So after a late lunch they started. And once
or twice on the drive through the most peaceful and beautiful scenery, a
flash of the same fierceness came into the lady's eyes, gazing away over
distance as when she had read her letter, and it made Paul wonder and long
to ask her why. He never allowed himself to speculate in coherent thought
words even as to who she was, or her abode in life. He had given his word,
and was an Englishman and would keep it, that was all. But in his
subconsciousness there dwelt the conviction that she must be some Queen or
Princess of a country south in Europe--half barbaric, half advanced. That
she was unhappy and hated it all, he more than divined. It was a proof of
the strength of his character that he did not let the terrible thought of
inevitable parting mar the bliss of the tangible now. He had promised her
to live while the sun of their union shone, and he had the force to keep
his word.
But oh! he wished he could drive all care from her path, and that this
glorious life should go on for ever.
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